Me and You
by oneapotheosis
Summary: "There were wine glasses, a bottle of cabaret, scrabble letters, and paper planes made from government paperwork but no sign of their clothing." A fun night in after a long night out. (smut).


Hey friends, long time no see. I love alcohol and McCords, and this was something I wanted to write for a while, so I hope it's not half bad. Thx 2 my main loser Adi for giving it a read. Let me know what you think, cheers! x

* * *

 **Me and You**

Elizabeth opened her eyes a crack, squinting into the harsh morning light interrupting her black-out slumber. She blinked a few times, trying to adjust to the light that stung her eyes. Pulling her arms up in a disorientated manner, she patted the soft, warm surface below her. Lifting her chin, she was face to face with Henry who was very much still asleep. They were naked and sprawled out on the couch, Elizabeth resting in a star-fish manner on top of him. She frowned, recalling the events that lead them to their current position. As she let her eyes open a little more, the piercing bright light made her head throb and her mouth dry. She took a deep breath and pushed herself up using Henrys chest, making him stir beneath her. Still perched above him in a semi-upright position, Henry groaned as he woke, tossing a hand up and rubbing his face. She met his confused gaze and titled her head. He blinked back, keeping one eye closed, adding to his dishevelled appearance.

At that moment, they both heard the sound of locks clicking and the front door being opened. Their dazed looks quickly transformed into panic as they scrambled to untangle their limbs.

"Where are our clothes?" Henry whispered frantically, his gaze darting around their surroundings. There were wine glasses, a bottle of cabaret, scrabble letters, and paper planes made from government paperwork but no sign of their clothing. She simply shook her head.

"Anyone up?" Stevie called.

Henry's eyes widened, and he gestured to the stairs with a nod of his head, covering himself and making a run for it, Elizabeth in tow.

She closed the bedroom door behind them they were finally safe. Turning, her eyes locked on Henrys naked form, roaming him appreciatively. He had his back to her, the muscles of his back flexing and releasing as he scratched his head. She let her eyes fall to his backside, squinting, she struggled to focus on something on his bottom cheek. He turned to face her as she was about to investigate.

"Henry, turn around…"

"What?"

"Turn around, you've got—"

He turned, watching over his shoulder. She scoffed and giggled, plucking something from his cheek, holding the small, plastic square up for him to see.

"You had an "E" stuck to your ass!"

"Fitting." He teased.

-o-

* * *

"Join me for a dance?" Henry asked, extending his hand to the woman before him, Elizabeth smiled warmly, taking her husbands hand and letting him pull her into an embrace. "How much longer do we _need_ to stay?" He asked, hoping for an escape sooner rather than later.

"One more glass, two, tops." She estimated, measuring their attendance in beverages.

It wasn't the first state-related event where alcohol was involved, and for a least one of the McCords, consumption bordered on excessive. Alcohol was a prerequisite for negotiation and diplomatic affairs; a social lubricant that smoothed creases in conversation and inhibited memory. It was entirely necessary.

Elizabeth McCord giggled loudly as her husbands large hand made contact with her bottom, giving her a playful pinch on the cheek, not caring that Matt followed closely behind them as the ascended the stairs to their front door; frankly, he'd seen much more compromising scenes between the McCords.

It'd been a long, taxing week for both of them, and they were just glad that if they _had_ to attend a function, they could together. They'd both had their fair allocation of alcohol that evening, and some. Intoxication coursed through their bodies, making the couple pleasantly warm, and for a moment, forget some of the stressors in their lives.

It also had _other_ redeeming effects, none felt greater than Henry McCord. He followed his wife closely inside, eyes trained on her backside. With a swiftness that betrayed his current state, he spun her and pushed her against the wall of the foyer, kissing her fervently and using his body to pin her body steady.

She laughed again, tilting her head and giving her ravenous husband access to the sensitive flesh below her jaw where he nipped and sucked, cleaning the salty moisture and inhaling her heady perfume.

He grunted suddenly, as though remembering their location and pulled back with wide eyes. "Are there any kids here?"

"Not tonight, as far as I know," She said, squinting and cocking her brow.

"You know what _that_ means…" he started lowly. She shook her head. "We can have _sex!"_ He continued.

"Henry, we can always have sex, we have a bedroom." She patted him on the chest.

He chuckled, a deep, glorious sound. "No, we can have sex _wherever_ we want." He pulled back, his eyes moving to the side as if he was in thought, as though the possibilities were limitless.

"I suppose we could. But _first,_ I need a drink."

"Babe, I'm getting enough alcohol from your breath." He pecked her quickly for emphasis, but pulled away and moved to the kitchen, never one to deny his wife a beverage.

"You can talk," she mumbled, smacking her lips at the strong taste of whiskey that remained.

He passed her a glass, the ice clinking against it echoed in the otherwise quiet house, and she followed him into the living room. He sat in the centre of the large sofa, wobbling awkwardly in attempt to not spill his drink. Elizabeth followed, crawling into his lap and straddling his waist with much greater dexterity. He moved a hand to her waist, the other nursing a glass as he took a sip.

Sitting down against him, she gasped, feeling him prominently aroused, and her cheeks reddened. He grinned, pulling her tighter. Needing both of her hands for balance, Elizabeth effortlessly downed her whiskey, placing the glass dangerously on the sofa beside them. Biting her lip, she watched her husband and placed her hands on his chest, beginning a slow, maddening gyration with her hips. The alcohol hit her fast, and the lightheaded warmth she felt coursing through her veins only aided her arousal.

"I'm so glad you wore this," Henry said, fingering the sheer, black fabric that plunged dangerously low on her chest.

"You like it?" It was shorter than her usual attire, almost cocktail, and flowed loosely beneath her waist. She'd worried about wearing an outfit so youthful, but she'd received nothing but positive feedback that night. People were looking, and so was Henry.

"I _really_ like it." He pulled the elastic fabric down gently, exposing the swell of her breast and fixing his lips to her skin.

She threaded her fingers through his thick hair, holding him against her bosom as he sucked hard, no doubt leaving a mark. She didn't care. He was clumsily and imprecise, leaving wet kisses against her hot flesh, resembling a starving animal as apposed to the skilled lover he was.

As she moaned softly, he pulled her closer, momentarily forgetting about the glass in his other hand and splashing his chest with amber liquid.

"Dammit," he mumbled, pulling away to inspect the damage. Stepping up to the plate, she leaned in and placed her lips against the hollow below his throat, darting her hot tongue out and tasting the spilled alcohol on his skin.

"You're so messy," she mumbled against him.

She was clever and fast, her hands already making light work of his shirt buttons as she cleaned his upper chest.

Momentarily dazed by the sensation of her tongue against his throat, Henry tossed back the remaining liqueur, devoting both his hands to the task of undressing his wife. Unfortunately, Henry was not as dexterous as his wife when it came to inebriation and fiddling tasks, and he fumbled and struggled with the clasp of her dress.

Meanwhile, she already had his shirt open, running her palms liberally over his broad chest. Placing her lips over his nipple, she distracted him further, cleaning the sticky remnants of his spill.

He sighed in resignation, maybe the dress staying on wasn't such a bad thing - she looked positively ravishing in it. Making her squeak with surprise, he refocused his hands, darting them under her dress and pressing against her underwear.

"Messy," he taunted, using her earlier words with a smirk.

"Ha. We'll soon see just _who_ is the messiest." Struggling with the awkward position and the confines of clothing, she wriggle uncomfortably in his lap. "Babe, can we go upstairs…" she shifted again, "I can't…" she squirmed desperately, trying to create some friction to no avail.

"But we have to have living-room-sex!" He slurred, closing one eye and trying to focus in the dim light.

"Henry, we already christened basically every surface in this house." She waved her hand for emphasis. "This lounge, the kitchen, the office, the _fridge…_ "

"We had sex in the fridge!?"

" _Against_ the fridge."

"That was hot. Or was it _cold_ …" She ignored his terrible connections, moving to untangle herself and dismount his lap. He watched her wobble as she found her feet, swaying dangerously in the nonexistent wind. "Whoa there, cowboy!" He stood without difficulty, always better at handling alcohol than his wife. He slipped his arm around her waist as she headed for the kitchen. "Do you really need -"

He stopped short after the look she shot him, pouring her glass. Moving in, he took her in his arms, leaning in for a clumsy kiss. "Bedroom," she spoke against his lips.

"Why do we still have stairs? The _Whitehouse_ has an elevator…" Elizabeth complained, making full use of Henry's assistance in ascending the staircase.

Once securely inside, she pulled him close again, kissing him with renewed fire. She pushed his shirt off, and made quick work of his pants.

"Turn around." He ordered, and she complied immediately, his demanding tone sending a short thrill through her muscles.

He intended to remove her clothing, but was once again distracted by the glorious vision of her backside. Gripping her hips tight, he ground her against his pelvis, shoving her forward so that she braced against bedpost. She moaned loudly, feeling his newly aroused state pressing behind her. In a brief moment of clarity, he released the clasp and tugged her zipped downwards, sending the beautiful, strapless, maroon garment billowing to the carpet. He sucked in a loud breath, catching the vision before him. She turned her head, giving him a smug look.

"These are my favourite," he rasped, fingering the delicate fabric secured low on her hips.

"I _know._ That's why I wear them."

"You do?"

She rolled her eyes. "We've been married for over twenty years, you think I don't dress sexy for you?"

"You're _always_ sexy, though. I didn't realise they were a conscious choice."

"Good answer," she breathed, pushing her hips back into his again.

He pulled her upright, leaning her lithe body against his chest and fastened his lips to the crook of her neck. Sighing heavily, she leant into his body, enjoying the feeling of his hot breath against her skin. He smelled of alcohol and _Henry,_ a delicious, woody combination. He squeezed her breasts gently, feeling her nipples stiffen under the sheer lace, pushing her towards the bed.

She swiftly tossed her bra aside and fell to the bed, bringing her husband with her. He kissed her again, harder this time, tracing her lips before plunging between and tasting their combination.

"Bedroom sex is actually my favourite sex." He pecked her lips once more, moving his hands to cradle her face. She smiled back sweetly, waiting for him to continue. "Because then, we can properly make love." He kissed her again.

She wanted to scoff at his comment, but the sweetness of his words tugged at her heart.

"That, and you're _much_ louder inside the the bedroom…"

This time she did scoff, pushing him back with both hands, cocking a brow in question. "I am not!"

"Mmm, you are." Leaving her parted lips, he kissed down her jaw, leaving a wet, lazy trail down her body.

She stuffed her fingers through his hair, pulling his head up slightly, ready to make a smart comment. He met her eyes with feigning innocence before taking a pert nipple between his lips. Her words fled and jaw snapped shut. As he gently suckled her, found only the will to hold him closer, faint pinpricks of pleasure dancing over her skin. She focused on the strange eroticism of having her husband at her bosom, his eyes dark and intense, never leaving hers. She couldn't look away.

When he finally relented and moved lower, she flopped back against the mattress with a huff of breath, letting her eyes slip closed and her tense muscles relax. He moved slowly, and intentional or not, it made her feel every single movement - his tongue darting out to taste, the quick, intense heat as his lips closed over her skin and the sharp cold as he released to take a quick breath.

Melting into the bed, she swam through the thick current of inebriation. Her cheeks felt warm and every heartbeat pulsed in her fingertips. Henry's hot hands pushed her knees up, making room to rest between her thighs. His hot breath fanned over the sensitive area, his hands rubbing gently, up and down her thighs. The room seemed to hum at a low frequency, was Henry talking?

Jumping slightly as his lips made contact, she sank down to him immediately, her head lolling to the side as her eyes slipped closed. She could feel the burn of his mouth against the delicate flesh, or maybe it was the alcohol…

Intense pleasure warmed her body further, she felt boneless, and her breathing slowed as her husband worked. She was still for a moment, and Henry squeezed her thighs to gain a reaction; that's when he heard it - the faintest snore, breaking through the silence in the room.

Pushing upright, he crawled up her body. She blinked suddenly, squinting at his proximity.

"Elizabeth McCord, did you just fall _asleep_ on me!?"

"I'm not asleep! Not.. I wasn't," she protested, pulling him roughly down for a hard kiss to prove her point.

"Am I boring you?" He taunted, pretending to be offended.

"No!" She giggled. "No, you're just well, it felt really…relaxing."

"Babe, if you're tired, we can-"

"No." She wrapped her legs around his waist strongly, forcing him closer. "We're gonna have _sex. No_ kids. _Sex_ time."

He grinned toothily, rolling them both so that she landed perched heavily against his pelvis. "Well then, we'd better do something a little more _stimulating,_ hadn't we."

Giggling loudly, she grabbed for balance against his body, leaning in closer in attempt to focus on his face. "What are you gonna do, professor?"

His eyes visibly darkened again, not that Elizabeth could tell. "I'm going to _fuck_ you _."_

She gasped, taken aback by his sudden vulgarity, a bashful grin spreading over her features. " _Language!_ And you _wouldn't."_ She mumbled, feigning shock again.

He smiled widely again, moving a single hand between their bodies and ghosting her ribs. Before she had a chance to stop him, his fingertips grazed her flesh, tickling her in a fresh assault. She squealed in surprise, fruitlessly attempting to escape his hands, but he was stronger than her. In a fit of laughter, he tossed them over again, crouching over her body possessively, leaning in and kissing her passionately.

He lifted his weight from her body, using his hands above her head for stability. Nudging her knees apart with his, he jutted his hips forward. They both watched in anticipation, as Henry attempted a hands free manoeuvre, wriggling his hips in a ridiculous attempt.

"Could you hurry up," she panted, tossing her head back in frustration.

"I'm trying!"

"Use your hands then!"

"No, I got it." He bit his lip in concentration.

"Henry, I swear to god- Christ!" She shrieked when he finally managed, sheathing himself deep inside. Everything was pressed, stretched and completely perfect.

It was his turn to giggle, and he pressed her down into the bed, covering her lips with his. " _Language…_ ," he whispered.

She whimpered into his mouth, febrility flooding her veins again in relief. His thrusts were ill timed, but she tilted her hips, seeking more from him.

His breath was hot against her throat, and the pungent scent of alcohol still wafted up her nostrils. Henry's chest glistened with sweat, and his body was heavy against hers, but it didn't matter.

Elizabeth cried out sharply with each movement; he was shockingly hard, especially given their earlier activities, and her core pulsed with a jolt of pleasure with every impact. There was no _way_ she'd doze during this.

"Feels good, baby?" He rasped, grimacing with effort.

She moaned throatily, arching her straining body into his. "Yeah…"

"Mmm, I love you, but you'd better not fall asleep -"

"I was not sleeping! I… Ah!"

"You're not tired?" He grinned at her, releasing her wrists and moving to hold her hips.

"No, I'm not! Are you?"

"Do I look tired to you?" He gave particularly hard thrust to make his point, making her the bed squeak in protest.

"You _feel_ a little tired…"

He scoffed, moving quicker now, impatient to prove her wrong. "Would a tired person do _this?"_ He hoisted her upwards into his arms, not without significant effort, and sat back on his heels, pulling her down into his lap.

She burst into a fit of giggles, his movements taking her entirely by surprise and making the room spin pleasantly. In this position, she could see her husband's face very well. Gazing into his soft, kind eyes, she smiled warmly and leaned in for a tender kiss. "You're so beautiful, Henry," she mumbled.

"Pfft, me? _You_ are."

"Mister _arm candy."_

"That's _doctor_ _arm candy_ to you, Madam _sexytary."_ He kissed her again, but she giggled against his lips.

He bucked against her, and she quickly forgot their verbal sparring to sink down against his body. Their movements were restricted, both by position and intoxication and so they settled for the gentle grind that Henry was able to achieve with his hands guiding her hips.

She closed her eyes, and sighed loudly, feeling his hot lips press against her throat. Henry often had complete physical power over her when they had sex, and there wasn't another way she preferred it. His strength over her was comforting and erotic, and she tilted her head back to allow his teeth to graze the delicate skin. In a silent admission, she let him own her. Despite having control in virtually every aspect of her life, there was no question as to who was in control within the bedroom.

"Breathe, baby," Henry rasped, slowing his movements, trying desperately to control his irrevocably near release.

She sucked in a noisy breathy, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Don't stop. _God,_ don't stop."

"Oof, if I don't, I'm gonna come…"

"Don't you _dare,"_ she hissed.

"Babe, I -"

"Faster!" She demanded.

He gripped her hips tight, fingers digging into her skin as he moved her body above his. He grunted loudly, instinctively chasing down the opulent feeling of her body clenching around his.

"Elizabeth, I can't… _Christ."_ He fisted her hair tight, fastening his lips against her neck.

She squirmed in his iron grip as his body convulsed against hers. His release pulsed in hot flashes, and their bodies slickened with the evidence of love-making.

He sucked in rasping breaths, trying to regulate his fluttering heartbeat. When the oxygen returned to his brain, he felt his wife writhing in his arms, whimpering in frustration as she tried to achieve the orgasm she'd be denied.

"You bit me!" She panted.

"Mmm, sorry," he drawled, giving the area a sloppy, wet kiss.

Indignant, she began to push him away, moving to crawl from his lap. He seized her by the waist and shoved her roughly into the mattress. "I'm _not_ finished with you."

She landed with a squeak, staring up as her husband crouched above her. His hair stood up in all directions and his eyes dark and hooded. She focused on his swollen, parted lips as the tip of his tongue darted out to wet them. Her belly clenched in response, and she let her knees fall spread. She watched his abdominal muscles spasm still with remnants of his orgasm, his olive skin glistening with sweat.

Men always seemed to aged better than women, and her husband was no exception. The lines of his face has deepened, and his muscular form had lost the fullness of youth, leaving him defined and positively _hot_.

She jumped when his fingers made contact again; she'd been distracted by the lewd vision before her and the warming lull coursing through her veins. Henry wasted no time, plunging three long fingers deep inside of her waiting body. He chuckled darkly when she cried out, her hands shooting out to grip at his biceps. Picking up where'd he'd left her, he thrust his fingers deep and unrelenting, sliding effortlessly their combined state of arousal.

He splayed his fingers, feeling her soft flesh yield to his lascivious probing. She sobbed her affirmation, rolling her hips to meet his hand as he manipulated her body. She groaned in ecstasy. His talented hands were easily able to reach areas that were otherwise unachievable, and he penetrated her with a strength fuelled by visceral need. Lowering himself between her thighs, his lips fastened above his working fingers, he sucked and licked, feeling her begin to strain for release.

With his hot, persistent tongue against her cleft, Elizabeth soared higher, the heat pounding through her veins becoming scalding. She fisted his hair, scraping her nails carelessly into his scalp and held him tight against her. She was on the cusp, as he knew so well, and was ruthless in his movements, rubbing, thrusting and curling with all of his strength. She'd be sore later, but only find it a reminder of the complete euphoria she writhed in now.

The breathless squeaks Escaping her lips were enough to swell Henry's chest with pride as deep contractions tore through her lithe musculature. He pressed her to the bed, sliding up her body and and kissing her heavily. She sank into post coital bliss, humming into Henry's soft, persistent lips, sobered somewhat by their physical exertion. She slipped her trembling hands around his waist, stroking his soft skin and pulling him closer.

"Coffee?" He mumbled into her mouth.

"Mhm."

He pulled away, leaning back in to give her a quick peck before slipping his fleecy robe on and padding down the stairs.

Pouting at the loss of her husband and space-heater, she made her way to use the bathroom on shaky legs, grimacing as she caught her reflection in the mirror. She plucked at her tousled hair, running her fingers through the thoroughly tangled locks. Moving back to their bedroom, she waded through the pleasant haze of exhaustion and alcohol, her muscles spent and ready to call it an evening.

She smiled warmly when she saw Henry; He was sitting in the large, cornered armchair, reclined lazily with a mug cradled in his lap. Placing his mug on the small table beside the chair, he extended his arms in invitation. She flushed bashfully, feeling exposed in her stark nudity, though he was only scantly clad in his gown.

Sighing in contentment, she sank into his arms, revelling in the warmth of his body behind hers. Henry smiled and kissed her cheek, nodding towards the steaming mug he'd prepared for her. She sipped it gratefully as his fingers ghosted her exposed skin, warming her similarly to how the hot liquid did to her belly. She could see Henry dosing, but she wasn't quite ready to call it a night.

"You wanna play Scrabble?"

-o-


End file.
